


The one where Eliot gets shot and Parker steals a cat.

by sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands



Category: Leverage
Genre: Eliot Spencer Whump, Gen, Gore I guess, Hurt/Comfort, I am mean to the characters I love, sorry eliot, technical depictions of injury/medical treatments, the "character gets shot doing illegal shit and ends up in a veterinary hospital" trope, there are also cats, warnings for medical stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8694040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands/pseuds/sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands
Summary: This fic is brought to you by me being bitter about how horribly inaccurate a different show's "character gets shot and ends up in a vet's" episode was.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't read if medical shit bothers you.
> 
> (Summary edited for clarity because someone pointed out it made it sound like I was bitching about other fan fic writers when that was really not my intention.)

Words and phrases drift sluggishly though Eliot’s consciousness, wading through the haze of pain and adrenaline; the word “Eliot” repeated over and over and a whole host of swear words. 

“We need a hospital!” someone says. “Parker, call 911!”

“No!” Eliot forces himself back to reality, eyes flinging open as he tries to push himself up. Someone grabs him by the shoulders and eases him back down, and after a second he realizes it’s Hardison. He also realizes he’s slumped on the floor of the van, his back against the wall. He has no real recollection of getting here, so he assumes he blacked out. Which is not a good sign.

“Hey, hey, easy man, we got you.” Hardison rubs Eliot’s shoulders gently. 

“Hardison,” Eliot growls, grabbing his wrists and squeezing, “do _not_ call 911.”

“Eliot,” Hardison says placatingly, “I know you don’t like hospitals but man--”

“ _Hardison_ ,” Eliot cuts him off, “listen to me, man, you take me to the hospital with a _gunshot_ wound and they’re gonna report it, and those guys are gonna find us, and they’re gonna do a lot worse than _this_.” 

“Eliot--“

Parker appears behind Hardison. “He’s right.”

“Parker, we cannot deal with this! No, nuh-uh, this is beyond our capabilities! We _need_ a doctor!”

“We need medical supplies,” Eliot interjects, wincing a little at how strained his voice sounds. “I can do the rest.”

“Man, you got _shot!_ ” Hardison exclaims. 

Eliot resists the urge to groan. He can’t exactly blame Hardison for freaking out but it is not what he needs right now. “I’ve had worse,” he says, and turns to Parker. “Need you to find me a clinic or somethin’, somewhere with medical supplies that won’t be open right now. Think you can do that for me?”

She nods and hums in reply, pulling her phone out.

“Hey,” Eliot says, softer, to Hardison. “I need to stop the bleeding.” Hardison nods, eyes wide and panicked. 

“Right,” he says. “Right.” He leans back from Eliot and tugs off the shirt he’s wearing, revealing a T-shirt with some sort of TV reference on it underneath. Eliot rolls his eyes and tugs the shirt out of Hardison’s hands and presses it against his stomach. 

He almost instantly wishes he hadn’t as his vision whites out. When he comes to, Hardison’s kneeling besides him, pressing the shirt against Eliot’s side and Parker’s saying “--closest clinic’s open late tonight, but there’s a vet’s two blocks away.”

“Go,” Eliot says. No one moves. “ _Go!_ ”

Eliot grunts as the van screeches into motion and Hardison shushes him gently. He’s shaking, Eliot notes dimly. 

The next thing he knows the van’s jerking to a halt and Hardison’s tugging him to his feet. They’re parked around the back of a large, squat, roughly horseshoe shaped building. There’s a slightly sad square of grass in the middle of the horseshoe, which Eliot assumes is for walking dogs on. Before he can ponder it too deeply Hardison ducks, slinging an arm around Eliot’s waist and tugs him towards the door closest to them. Parker darts ahead and begins picking the lock. By the time Eliot and Hardison stumble over, the lock has clicked open and Parker shoves them in the door. 

They emerge into a long, dark room, which, judging by the number of eyes staring at them, Eliot assumes is the wards. The walls are lined on both sides with kennels, larger walk-ins on one side and smaller, waist-high ones on the other. 

“C’mon.” Hardison half-drags him towards the door, which leads them out into what is obviously the main room. Eliot detangles himself from Hardison, scans the room and growls in frustration as the action makes his head spin. He feels sick and dizzy and shaky. 

“Dammit,” Eliot presses a hand to his face in a vain attempt to steady himself. 

“Ohh!” Hardison yelps, and suddenly there’s a hand on his back and elbow. “Okaaayyy,” Hardison drawls, tugging Eliot further into the room. “Yeah, you need to sit down, ‘cuz there ain’t no way my skinny ass is dragging you off the floor!”

Hardison pushes him gently over to an exam table and Eliot pulls himself onto it, bracing one hand against his side and the other against the table. 

“Eliot.” Hardison squeezes his arm gently. “What do you need?”

Eliot blinks. His head’s fuzzy with pain and probably blood loss. He should know what to do here, he _does_ know what to do here, but his heads too full of _stuff_ he can’t think--  
Oh, right, pain and blood loss, yeah, that seems like a good place to start. 

Eliot sits back and takes a breath, steadying himself, before saying, “should be some, uh, gauze swabs.” Eliot gestures vaguely with his free hand. Both Parker and Hardison spring into action. Before he knows it, Parker’s passing him a packet of them. 

Somewhat gingerly, Eliot peels Hardison’s shirt away from his side, and then, even more gingerly, removes his own shirt. Gritting his teeth, he grabs a handful of swabs and presses them against the wound. 

“Alright,” Eliot grunts, “one of you help me up.”

“Uh, El, no offense, but I think you should like, _stay_ sat down,” Hardison says. 

Eliot growls lightly. “ _Hardison_ -”

“No, seriously man, what d’you need?”

Eliot rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the table. Ignoring Hardison, he starts to rummage through the cupboards until he finds what he needs, most of which he dumps on Hardison before stumbling back to the table. 

“Alright,” Eliot says once he’s pulled himself back together. He turns to examine the small pile of medical equipment Hardison’s holding. “Gimme.” He gestures for Hardison, who obligingly dumps his little collection on the table. 

He grabs an IV fluid bag and rips the outer packaging away before handing it back to Hardison, then selects a drip line and does the same. He takes the bag back from Hardison, snaps off the little plastic nodule covering the seal and connects the line to it. He runs it through before giving it back to Hardison again, sparing a moment to feel apologetic for turning him into a glorified drip stand. 

He then spares another moment to groan before he picks up the cannula. Placing IVs is a bitch at the best of times, and this, given that Eliot has recently been shot, is not the best of times.   
Grumbling, Eliot pulls a tourniquet over his forearm and the cannula out of the packaging. Three cannulas and a lot of swearing later and Eliot finally manages to get one in in the back of his hand. 

“What are you doing?” Parker asks while Eliot hooks the IV up. 

“Gotta make up for the blood loss somehow,” he tells her as he smothers his hand in tape. 

Parker hums in response. 

“Parker, I need you to break into that.” He points at a large white cupboard mounted on the opposite wall, the word “poisons” written across it in large, red letters. 

“ _Poisons?_ ” Parker exclaims, “why do we need poisons?!”

“They ain’t--it’s not--“ Eliot breaks off, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands. “’s just where they keep the good stuff, Park.”

“… _Riiigghtt_ yeah, the _good stuff_. Uh-huh! Totally--“

“Drugs, Parker,” Eliot snaps. “It’s where they keep the drugs.”

“Oooooooohhhhhhhh.”

She has the box open in about thirty seconds flat.

“What am I looking for?” she asks.

“Morphine, if they’ve got it.” They probably _don’t_ , given morphine’s not licensed for animal use, but one can hope. “Methadone if they don’t.”

“Mmmmm, nope, no morphine. Found the other thing though.” She holds it triumphantly in the air. 

“ _That’s great_ Parker!” Eliot exclaims, voice dripping sarcasm. “See if you can find any lidocaine too.”

“Found it!” Parker says, holding a significantly larger bottle up. 

She bounces off the counter she was standing on to be level with the lock and heads back towards him. Hardison tosses him a box of needles and syringes and Parker hands him the bottles. 

Eliot grabs the little bottle first, ignoring Hardison’s protests of “hey, man that’s for _animals!_ ” and “are you sure this is safe?” He pushes an appropriate amount into the IV. 

“Hardison, _stop_ ,” Eliot growls, finally cutting off his slightly panicked rambling as he draws the local anesthetic into a syringe. “They use this stuff on people too, alright?”

Gritting his teeth, Eliot peels the swabs away from the wound and douses it in lidocaine.

Shoving the swabs back to the wound, he picks himself up and starts pulling the cupboards apart again. Hardison hovers anxiously behind him. “Um, Eliot?” 

“Gotta find somethin’ to sew this up with, man, can you _stop_?”

Eliot lets out a breath as Hardison backs up and grabs a steri-pouch labeled “stitch kit”. The actual contents are obscured, due to the fact they’re wrapped in a large blue drape, but Eliot assumes this what he wants. grabbing a few reels of suture material, he collapses back on the table.

Eliot’s stitched himself up before, more times than he likes to count, but it never gets any more pleasant. He feels _better_ \--painkillers and fluids will do that--but saline’s only a substitute for real blood. While Eliot’s accepted the fact that he’s just going to have to put up with feeling crappy till his body makes more, it’s not exactly helpful right now.   
He manages to mostly stop the bleeding before he realizes he’s shaking too much to carry on.

“Let me.” Parker covers his hands with her own, gently relieving him of the tweezers he’s holding.

“Parker wai--” Eliot starts, but she’s already twirling the implement round and gently probing the wound. It doesn’t hurt, but he feels it when she hits the bullet. “Do you know what you’re--” 

Eliot breaks off again as Parker pulls the tiny metal pellet out his side and his stomach turns.   
Eliot shifts, staring pointedly at Hardison instead, who, Eliot notes with a little smirk, is taking a sudden interest in the opposite wall. 

“You sure you know what you’re doin’?” Eliot asks Parker. 

“Mmmhumm,” she says. Eliot glances at her long enough to see her threading a needle before turning away again. 

“Okay.”

“Um, no, no, not okay. How the hell do y’all know how to treat _bullet_ wounds?!”

Eliot snorts. “You realize I used to be a _mercenary_ right? You don’t know how to look after yourself in that world, you die.”

“Man, in what world does _looking after yourself_ involve _bullet_ removal?! And you,” he points at Parker, “you were a cat burglar!”

“Excuse you, I _am_ a cat burglar!” Parker pouts.

“Babe!”

Parker huffs a long suffering sigh. “People don’t like it when you take their stuff, Hardison,” she says, with the air of someone explaining math to a small child. 

Parker stitches quickly and efficiently; the end result is a little sloppier than it would’ve been if Eliot had done it himself, but he’s not exactly in a position to complain. 

“Here.” She hands him a wad of damp cotton wool. Eliot grunts in response and attempts to clean the blood off himself. 

“What do we do now?” Hardison asks as Eliot and Parker finish clearing up as best they can. 

“Time is it?” Eliot asks, glancing around for a clock.

“Nearly two a.m.,” Hardison says.

“Clinic opens again at six,” Parker adds. 

“I need to sleep,” Eliot says. 

“Alright,” Hardison says with a nod, “we got a couple hours.”

“I found blankets!” Parker exclaims. Eliot hadn’t noticed her leaving, but suddenly she’s re-entering the room with an arm full of, well, blankets. 

“Parker, those are used as dog beds!” Eliot growls. 

“It’s okay, I pulled them out of the dryer!”

“That ain’t--”

“S’the best you’re gonna get, man,” Hardison says, which, Eliot has to admit, is probably true. 

He’s slept worse places than the floor of a vet’s office. At least this one is actually _clean_. This, mixed with the fact that Parker actually managed to find enough random blankets to make some sort of bed means he passes out pretty quickly. Well, that and the heavy duty painkillers.

 

Eliot wakes sometime later. He’s still tired and sore but all things considered, this is a win. 

“Hey man, you awake?” 

Eliot rolls onto his side and blinks groggily. Hardison’s sitting on the floor next to him, his phone in one hand and what looks like a take-out tub on his lap. 

“You got _take out?_ ” Eliot asks.

“Yeah man, you want some?”

“Do I want-- _no_ Hardison I don’t want some! The hell were you thinkin’, ordering _take out_?”

“Relax! Parker went out, picked it up, she weren’t followed. Here.” Hardison hands him a tub of noodles. 

“You’re an idiot,” Eliot mutters around a forkful of Chinese. 

“How long was I out?” Eliot asks after a while. 

“Couple hours, it’s nearly five.”

Eliot sighs. “We should go soon.”

“You need anything else?”

Eliot shrugs. “Antibiotics. Painkillers maybe.”

Hardison nods. “Uh-huh,” he says. 

“Hey, Hardison,” Eliot frowns. “Where’s Parker?”

“Ah…”

“Hardison.”

“She, uh, she might have found the cats…”

Eliot just stares at him with increasing dread. “She knows she ain’t gettin’ one, right.”

“Oh, yeah! Yeah! Definetly, don’t worry man, she know’s they’ve all got homes. Told her it’d be mean to take ‘em away from their homes.”

Eliot lets out a breath. Parker might be…. Parker, but he knows she’d understand that. 

“Right,” Eliot says, “good.”

They fill the next half hour tidying up as best they can. Eliot pulls the cannula out and bins it along with the fluid bag. Hardison makes some attempt at putting stuff back where they got it from. 

“I feel kinda bad about all this…” Hardison says, gesturing to the mess they’ve made. “Hate to think how much this is gonna cost to replace.”

“Maybe we can send ‘em a donation,” Eliot says, absently. He’s trying to wash at least some of the blood out of his shirt. 

“Huh,” Hardison says, “y’know, that’s not a bad idea!”

“Uh-huh,” Eliot hums, finally admitting defeat and pulling the now-ruined shirt back on. 

Eliot’s shoving meds into the takeout bag when Parker reappears. To his horror she’s holding a large and exceptionally angry looking cat.   
It’s about the size of a medium Maine Coon, and judging by the tufty ears, huge feet and frankly impressive mane, it’s probably at least part Maine, ginger tabby, with the most irate looking expression Eliot has ever seen on a feline. 

“Parker,” Eliot starts, with incredible calm, “what is _that?_ ”

“ _He’s_ called Toffee!” she announces. 

“ _Great!_ ” Eliot says. ”Go put Toffee back, we’re leaving.”

Parker pouts and shakes her head adorably. “Toffee’s coming with us.”

Eliot groans loudly. “Dammit, Hardison!”

“Hey man, don’t look at me! Parker, Toffee can’t come home with us, he has a family waiting to pick him up when he’s better,” Hardison says. 

“Yeah!” Eliot nods. “We can’t take him, Park, he needs treatment.”

She shakes her head again. “No he doesn’t--”

“Parker, hon, he’s at a vet’s--”

“No!” She exclaims. “He’s a stray! It said so on his kennel!”

“Parker,” Eliot says helplessly. 

Hardison, the traitor, has moved towards her and is currently petting the cat. Eliot can hear it purring from across the room. 

“Noooo,” Parker says softly. “We can’t leave him here! What if they put him down?”

“They ain’t gonna put him down, Parker.”

“They might!” she says. “Besides, we have to keep him, he likes me.”

“For fuck’s sa--”

“And he looks like you!”

“…. _Excuse_ me?” Eliot says, over the sound of Hardison laughing hysterically. 

“Oh my god it _does_ ,” Hardison gasps. 

“No,” Eliot says. 

Both of them _look_ at him. 

“ _No_ ,” he says again, a little more forcefully. 

 

They leave with the cat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Once again a huge thank you to my lovely beta beckettemory!

It’s morning when they stumble back into the apartment they rented for the con, Parker’s practically carrying Eliot, though at this point he’s too tired to care. 

Parker obligingly drags him through the apartment and dumps him on his bed, she pauses long enough to watch him sit and start to pull off his boots before she leaves with a cheery “night!”

“It’s seven _am_ Parker!” Eliot calls after her as she leaves. Grumbling Eliot shifts back and collapses on the bed, passing out pretty much as soon as he’s laying down. 

 

It’s mid afternoon when he wakes, if the light streaming through the curtain slits is anything to go by.  
He’s aware of two things, one; the numerous painkillers he took last night have worn off, and two; someone’s watching him.  
He lies still, keeping his eyes closed and his breathing even, and focuses on the presence in the room, it’s standing roughly a foot from the end of his bed, not moving. Eliot’s running through scenarios, attack plans, escape routes, how to get the others out-

“I know you’re awake.”

“ _Dammit Parker! The hell are you doing?_ ” Eliot growls, shoving himself into a sitting position. 

“Watching you sleep, duh.”

“I-“ Eliot stares at her, “Parker what the- you-… You don’t watch people sleep Parker! That’s _creepy!_ ”

“But… I wanted to know you were okay,” she pouts. 

“I…” Eliot blinks at her, “Parker I’m fine.”

“You have a strange definition of fine,” she says, moving towards the window. 

“Alright,” Eliot says, “maybe I ain’t _fine_ , but I will be.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah sweetheart, I promise.”

“Okay!” She says, turning on her heels and skipping out of the room. 

Eliot slumps against the head-post, squeezing his eyes shut he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Hey man.”

Eliot starts to find Hardison leaning against the bedroom door, “you kinda look like hell, no offence."

Eliot snorts, “I got _shot!_ ”

“Yeah,” Hardison says, “I noticed that.” 

Eliot rolls his eyes and shifts, starting to heave himself off the bed, “hey! Hey,” Hardison crosses the room to block his way, “where’d you think you’re going.”

“Uh, to find more painkillers, if that’s okay with you,” Eliot glares at him. 

“Sit your ass back down,” Hardison says, “I’ll get you your meds, you want something to eat?”

“I can get it myself,” Eliot frowns.

“I know,” he says.

“Hardison-“

“No, Eliot, listen to me, alright, I know you can do it on your own. I know you can look after yourself, but man you got _shot_ , alright I- man you scared the crap out of me!”

“Hey,” Eliot pulls himself to his feet, trying not to wince and squeezes Hardison’s arm, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t gotta be sorry, Eliot!”

“I know,” he says, “but I am. Know what else I am? Alive, and mostly intact.”

“Man that ain’t the point!”

“Yes, it is,” Eliot interrupts, “I’m okay, we’re all okay, nothin’ else matters.”

“Man…” Hardison breaks off, his voice choking up, Eliot once again rolls his eyes. 

“C’mere,” he growls, and pulls Hardison into a hug before he can get any more embarrassing. 

“I’m okay, “ he says again, letting go of Hardison, “but hey, you guys wanna wait on me, I ain’t complaining.”

“We do!” Hardison grins, darting towards the kitchen. 

Eliot follows after a second, turning into the bathroom instead. By the time he shuffles into the kitchen Hardison’s cracking eggs into a frying pan and Parker’s sitting cross legged on the counter, rhythmically drumming her fingers against the coffee mug she’s holding. 

Easing himself into a chair, Eliot clears his throat looking pointedly at Hardison. 

“Right,” Hardison says, “right, here,” he dumps an armful of medical supplies on the table, and then pushes a mug of coffee towards Eliot. Eliot obligingly swallows a pain pill, followed by an antibiotic. 

“You should take a shower,” Parker tells him, wrinkling her nose a little. 

“Thanks, Parker!” Eliot says, dripping sarcasm. She kind of has a point though, he’s still wearing the now ruined shirt and undoubtedly covered in blood.

“Come on,” Parker leaps, nimbly off the counter and offers Eliot a hand, he obligingly lets her pull him to his feet and help him toward the bathroom.  
“You need new clothes,” she announces when they get there, flouncing out, the door banging shut behind her. 

Eliot can’t actually take a shower, not with stitches anyway, he does manage to wash himself well enough to get rid of all the blood though, he’s halfway through shampooing his hair when Parker comes back.

She’s holding an armful of his clothes, “that looks painful,” she remarks, watching him bent over the bath.

Eliot takes a second to thank whoever’s up there that he bothered with wrapping a towel round his waist before saying, “that’s cuz it is.”

“Wouldn’t it hurt less if you sat down?”

“I can’t rinse my hair like that Parker,” he snaps, he knows she’s just trying to help, but it fucking hurts alright. 

Parker sighs, in a way that strongly suggests she thinks he’s a moron, grasps him by the shoulders, tugs him round and pushes lightly till he’s sitting on the edge of the bath. 

“Parker.”

“Tip your head back,” she says.

“What are you-“ Eliot breaks off in surprise as a jet of water hits his head. 

“Shush,” Parker says, and he sit’s quiet while she efficiently rinses his hair.

“There,” she says when she’s done.

“Thanks, Parker.”

“She pats him, lightly on the head, “hurry up, breakfast’s ready.”

 

Four hours later Eliot’s been fed, forced to sit through several of Hardison’s dumbass TV shows and fussed over more than he has been since, well, _ever_. They’d tried to fuss the last time he’d been shot but, he’d escaped to his apartment before they could. It’s… Nice, if a little overwhelming, thankfully they keep their fussing mostly to the realms of making sure he has food and drinks and takes his pills on time. That Eliot can deal with, it’s practical, Eliot’s a practical kind of guy.  
He eventually slips back into his bedroom, leaving Hardison engrossed in an episode of the X files and Parker with her nose in a cat book of unknown origins. 

 

Eliot’s half asleep when he hears it, a soft “fwump” of something landing on the duvet accompanied by a rush of air past his face. His eye’s spring open to reveal, the fucking cat. 

“Oi,” Eliot hisses, it flicks an ear towards him and doesn’t move. 

“Pshht!” Eliot tries again, “Go on, get outta here!”

It yaws lazily and, to Eliot’s distress circles once, twice, before curling into a tight ball next to his face. 

“Oi,” Eliot says, “I’m talkin’ to you, hey!” He reaches out and gently prods the animal in the side, the cat chirps in response, lifting his head and butting Eliot’s hand with it. 

“Oi, mangy cat, get off my bed! Go bother Parker, she brought you home!” Instead the cat steps closer to Eliot, purring loudly it rubs its face against Eliot’s nose. Spluttering Eliot shoves his hand at the creature letting it rub against that instead. 

“Dammit Parker,” he groans, scratching the cat behind the ears.


End file.
